Want the Need
by Mystic25
Summary: An AU of Deathly Hallows Part One, set during the moments after Hermione and Harry leave Bathilda's house after Nagni's attack. RATING M for content.


"Want the Need."

Mystic25

Summary: An AU of Deathly Hallows Part One, set during the moments after Hermione and Harry leave Bathilda's house after Nagni's attack.

Rating: M for imagery, violence, and sexual imagery.

A/N: This is based on seeing the DH part one on DVD too many times, how I pictured something that could have been, because even Rowling admitted that there was something there. I'm sure I'll be receiving negative feedback from certain people, but I had to write what I feel could have been a real moment, because, out there, when it is just them, rationality doesn't always fit, because feeling overrides it. And it's AU, so some details have changed.

A/N: #2: Yes, I said "sexual imagery" in the title, nothing graphic, I don't do porn, because it lacks real _feeling._ But, still if you don't agree with where that thought takes you concerning Harry and Hermione, please, don't read it.

A/N#3: And finally, anything in bold brackets and italicized **[**_like this_**] **is a flashback, we good?

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_"Once you want something, everything changes." _

Ally Condie

Matched

"_Now the fact is that Hermione shares moments with Harry that Ron will never be able to participate in. He walked out. She shared something very intense with Harry."_

-J.K. Rowling.

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><p>She was crying again, so low and sad that it barely made any noise at all, only echoing inside her own ears. The canvas tent flapped around her, rattling in a chilling December wind, the cold soaking into her. The lantern light suspended above her cast long shadows over the camp beds, making it look like ghouls were climbing the makeshift walls.<p>

But she could only focus one on one thing, the fact that her hands were shaking, shaking like she was holding melting ice, but in reality she was holding buttons. Buttons from a red and black plaid shirt, that would not come away from their anchored holes because her fingers wouldn't allow her to stop moving enough to accomplish what should have been a simple task.

She cursed under her breath, called herself names that Ron would have been proud off when the shirt remained closed. She wanted to scream, because she didn't give a bleeding shit about the shirt, she only cared about what it housed.

Her friend. Harry, lying so still on a bed she had flung him on with his limbs lying off of it, eyes closed, so still and pale, with blood seeping through the fabric on his arm, from a snake bit, one that she was trying desperately to get to if only she remembered how her hands worked.

_**[**__She could still hear him screaming when that huge snake of Voldemort's attacked, remembering calling for his wand from over piles of dusty objects in Bathiltda's ramshackle of a house, seeing that enormous boa constrictor with its teeth in Harry's arm, its long powerful body encircling him, choking off his air. She fired jinx after jinx at it until it had let go, then they fought, they fought for the simple act of being able to walk back outside alive. She remembered feeling Harry her drag across the room by the waist, even with that horrible injury, out into the night, as they twisted and disapparated in mid air. Harry had barely been consciousness, looking at her with glassy, glazed eyes-because he hadn't a planned location for where they were going, and if one of them didn't decide, then they would fall right where they had jumped, into fifty feet of hard ice and snow, directly into the path of Voldemort himself. _

_Hermione's mind was so high on adrenaline and fear that she couldn't think, and she had had only a handful of seconds to make up her mind or they both would be dead. And, like Shatusburry Avenue, something popped into her head, a place she had gone with her mum and dad long ago as a little girl, The Forest of Dean. A camping spot her family favored, one that she loved to run barefoot in despite her mum's protests and warnings of Legionaries Disease. It was a life time ago from the moment she and Harry landed end over end on the hard, icy ground of this forest of endless Birch trees._

_The sounds, of birds twittering high above, lofting in these ever greens braving the ice and snow, reached her senses before anything else did._

_She landed sprawled on top of him; slammed so hard into his chest she was winded. Her legs tangled with his, almost straddling his waist, but he wasn't moving, and it wasn't the bloody time to act embarrassed. She climbed off of him, shaking his shoulders desperately, calling his name, but to no avail._

_She tore away his jacket collar and felt for a pulse in his neck, the solid, if not erratic beating made a crying, shaking sigh of relief tear from her throat. She grouped around for their wands, finding the end of her own poking out from under Harry's left side, she grabbed it, and searched for his, finding it five feet away next to a dormant growth of Queen Ann's Lace._

_But that wand was horribly wrong, it lay broken in half, only a sliver of wood, barely the size of a strand of hair, holding it together. Hermione gasped like it had been a broken bone of Harry's, because a wizard's wand was a part of them, and breaking it, it was almost a violation. She might as well have actually broken one of his bones, the damage was the same. _

_She picked it up like the wounded thing it was and laid it in the inner pocket of her wool coat. Harry would hate her once she showed it to him, but he had to be alive for that to happen, and she would take his hate, if she could keep him breathing. _

_Even after all the fighting, and scrambling, her beaded bag was still securely strapped to her shoulder almost like it were made of Velcro instead of glass beads and Lamiae. She snapped it open, wasting no time in digging through the cavernous space she had majicked, instead calling forth the items she needed with cries of 'Accio!' The huge tent had come out, the bottles of Dittany, clothing of hers that she would tear into bandages, blankets. _

_She had erected the tent where they stood, too afraid to move Harry, lest she cause him any more injury, hastily throwing out all the protection charms around them, before disappearing behind the tent flap to check on him._

_He was too heavy for her to lift, so she had to levitate him onto the bunk, cringing at the heavy, slamming sound he made when her spell was released._**]**

And now, after doing all of that, she couldn't get herself under control to remove one blasted shirt. She gave up trying to unbutton the shirt, and ripped it open with her hands, sending buttons popping like bottle rockets across the tent.

She pulled the shirt down and off his chest and arms. The first thing she saw was the gold Horcrux locket, it was _burning_ into his flesh, like it was made of fire, she could hear the '_hiss _' of it tearing through into something vital. She tried to pull it off of him, but it resisted, yanking her back with the force of 50 strong men, all the while continuing to damage what it clung too.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from crying, this wasn't school, her best friend was _dying_ under her hands, she could cry later. She took up her wand, but even her internal berating of herself couldn't stop two tears from flowing, because what she was about to do- it was going to _hurt._

"I'm so sorry Harry," She aimed her wand at the Horcrux locket and blasted it point blank, with a powerful Severing Charm, one that Professor McGonigal had warned with utmost severity should _not_ be used in the vicinity of a _person, _because as she had put it: _"Would YOU want to be responsible if you severed something you shouldn't have?'_

The locket flew off like it had been fired at with a loaded gun, slamming into her arm with such tremendous force that she actually was thrown to the ground. She closed her hand around it, and it felt like a scrabbling insect in her palm, tearing, trying to escape her hold.

She hastily flung it over her own neck, tucking it under her lavender shirt. And, it was like some sort of evil, demented newborn, because it then settled still against her chest, actually _clinging_ itself to her frantic heartbeat.

"Harry?" Hermione knelt down beside him, palming the ugly looking scorch mark that now lay against his chest. She knew it had to hurt horribly, and she knew that what she was doing wouldn't be received well, but that's what she _wanted. _She was waiting for a sign-

And she got it, in a tearing moan, that brought tears to her eyes because it meant he was _alive._

"Harry-" Hermione removed her hand from his wound, and soothed it through his hair. People said that this kind of action was '_motherly' _But, Hermione was not his mother, she was his friend, and she offered the comfort of one. She could never replace his-

"_Mum?"_

Her hand stopped moving, her breath catching.

"Mum?" It was such a sad, aching sound. "Mum-"

"Harry it's okay," Hermione felt herself crying. She never knew his mother, but he was saying her name with such loneliness, that it made her ache with him.

"Mum-Please PLEASE! Come back!"

"Harry, it's alright!" Hermione tried to calm him, but he was almost screaming now. Screaming for a mother who had died 17 years ago, wanting her back. She had no idea what he was seeing, but she knew it had to be terrible. "You're alright!"

His eyes hadn't opened that entire time, lost to his nightmarish visions, but finally they did, slowly, blinking, bringing something into focus he hadn't been aware was there.

"Hermione?"

"I'm here Harry," Hermione's words were said all in one breath. She relished in the sight of his open eyes. She stopped touching his hair and took his hand in both of hers. "We made it out, and you're going to be fine."

A trail of warm tear tracks leaked from his eyes like tiny rivers, coming from someplace sad. His eyes were leveled with hers, the tears in them making them shine."She's dead isn't she?"

Lilly Potter had died before Harry even knew her, he knew that since he was a child, had his Uncle Vernon tell him countless times how he was his Ward, _not_ his child. Harry knew this, he knew it, and even though he missed her, he carried on, he lived. But, seeing her there in Godric's Hollow, buried under snow and frozen ground, it made him _want_ her. She had fought and died for him, and he never got to thank her, to tell her that he had come home, and he would make sure she hadn't died for nothing.

But, all he could think about, after hearing her and his dad die over and over again in his delirium, was that she was gone, and he wanted her back, because he wanted to have more than just memories, because it wasn't bloody fair.

Hermione found tears dripping down the end of her nose. "Yes she is." Saying the truth had never hurt so much. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and turned her attention to dressing the snake bite on his left forearm, because she didn't want him to see her break down, because someone had to be strong, or they both would be useless.

Harry's eyes were closed and his teeth were gritted for the next ten minutes as she thoroughly cleaned out all the congealing blood and dirty snow from the snake bite with water made from clean, melted snow, before trickling Essence of Dittany on wound. The potion began to seal up the bite wound like Muggle stitches, but since Wizards didn't _use _stitches, it couldn't close it up as neatly. But after a few moments what resulted looked like a poorly sutured up wound, but one that was adequately closed, clean, and free of infection.

His eyes opened when he heard her tearing up one of her white under camisole into strips with her hands. She was sitting on the edge of his camp bed, and she picked up his injured arm gently and laid it across her lap, wrapping the cloth around the bite wound with underhand motions.

Harry watched her ministrations, seeing how worn and ragged she looked. There was dirt and debris in her hair, and she had the unhealthy pallor of someone who which sleep was more something of a wish then a reality. But, she continued to bandage his arm like none of that mattered to her; because what she was doing was more important.

"Thank you."

Hermione looked up for the briefest of moments from her bandaging, meeting his eyes across the air that was heavy with pain, with agony, with all the feelings they carried around like unwanted luggage, the emptiness of something missing.

"You're welcome Harry." She tied off the bandage and moved to take his arm off of her lap, but he shifted it up to her face, his fingers tracing the edge of her skin by her ear.

"I mean for everything Hermione," it was a touch, but it wanted to become a caress, but it waited for permission. And when she didn't pull away his fingers remained, some going into her hair.

Hermione smelled the fresh blood from his newly healing wound, the smell of something that could only be described as the after effects of _terror —_leaching off of both of them.

But she couldn't focus on that, because in that moment, all she felt-was him. His mother was gone, his father was gone, _Ron_ was gone. They were all that was left. "I know you do." She picked up the shirt from where it had fallen to the dirt floor and helped him slide back into it. Her hands on the buttons were shaking again.

She buttoned what buttons were left his shirt with shaky fingers, when Harry's hand stilled her with one thumb and forefinger softly grasping hers.

A tear fell from her and slid warm against his fingers. He didn't wipe it away, he let it travel down his fingers, running down his wrist pooling into the dip where his pulse beat, a little part of her that touched a little part of him. "Please don't cry, Hermione."

She laughed in sad disbelief. "What else am I supposed to do?" More tears joined the first one. It was with such an ache that she said these words. How could he, after everything just ask her to ignore his hurt, act like that it meant _nothing _to her?

She leaned forward to press her forehead to his, close enough to feel his breath on her face. There was no boundary of relationship, it was her reaching for the part of him that had always belonged to her, that she had given him years ago when they were children.

"What the bloody hell else am I supposed to do?" her words were a whisper, she was scared to say them louder and give them validity.

Every moment since she had been on this Hunt, she had been acutely aware that each day she saw the sunrise, each moment she saw the faces of Harry, and Ron, each time she felt the sun warm her skin, it could be the last moment. She would miss the sun, and the air and the stars, but to never see Ron, to never see Harry-how could she live after that?

Harry slowly sat up more on the cot, bracing one arm against the side of it. He watched her pull back a little to give him room. Her eyes were shining, their end result leaking down her face without her knowing.

He placed a hand against the back of her neck, pulling her forehead back down to his, dipping his head down to meet hers. They didn't touch any other way except this, but it was a moment of such sweetness that they both felt an aching inside.

She pulled back again, then seconds later, he did too, their eyes like mirrors to each other.

Her face was damp with tears, falling down her skin, shining off her lips that were trembling in an effort to keep complete sobs at bay.

"I don't know," Harry's answer was said as the lost thing that it was. He was never as self reassured as people tended to think he was. He never _wanted_ his title of 'hero.' He simply wanted to live, to survive this evil that never left him alone. His 'Great Plans' were really just fragmented things thrown together pell mell. Hermione had always been the one to make sense of such things, to take all his manic fragments and place them together in a functional plan. He felt at times like hired muscle, and the months on the run had whittled him down to practically nothing, so right now all he felt – was useless.

He couldn't save them, he couldn't even get to visit his own parents grave without nearly getting the people he cared about killed. _Useless. Useless. USELESS._

Even now, as his best friend lay before him, completely broken, he couldn't even give her an answer, not even a lie, _something_ to give her energy to make it until morning. He felt her reach up to check the security of her bandage on his arm, then finally removed it from her lap to place it beside his body on the cot.

"You need to sleep Harry. I'll take the first watch." Her words were as soft as the snow falling around them, but trying so hard to be stronger. Trying to ignore the warmth of tears that still clung to her face, because she didn't know how much more they could really take.

She felt Harry reach up and wipe the tears away on her face his thumb, felt him watching her as he did this. His other fingers joined it, until he was holding to the side of her face.

Both his hand was calloused from months holding his wand in training, in real fighting, finding stones to make a boundary for their small fire, from helping her find edible plants for them to try and sustain somewhat of a meal from. The touch was rough, but it was warm, it was familiar, it was Harry's.

Her eyes closed and she breathed in an heavy sigh that came somewhere deep inside. "Sometimes, I just want to go home-" her small laugher was nothing but sad, aching, lonely.

She wanted things that she couldn't have so badly, out here in the cold, freezing winter, with Ron gone, Harry so hurt, feeling so trampled upon it was a chore to hold her head up. She didn't want to _win_ anymore, she just wanted to see _home_ as long as home was left to see.

"Sometimes I do too," the echoing of the words from Harry found a heavy, thick warm tear dropping down him so fast that he didn't have enough time to stop it from falling. The realization was like a knife wound stabbing him through, blinding him with such pain, because he wanted what could never happen, not while Voldemort was still alive. And if he didn't defeat him- "I don't want to win anymore Hermione," the Boy Who Lived stating a blasphemy to his title. But, he had never give himself such a name. He was Harry, and he was – "I don't want to play anymore."

He was scared.

He never wanted to die, why give him such a bloody title of the "Boy Who Lived" if this was the way his story ended? Why did he have to die when he had only just discovered how much he really loved it out _here, _in _life? _

Hermione pulled forward and kissed the top of his head. "I know," her arms settled around his neck, chin in his shoulder. She felt him hold her in return, his arms across her back.

And, she felt his tears slide down the back of her neck and dampen her shirt, listening to the howl outside of a encroaching snowstorm. The flap of the tent snapped open, letting in a bitterly cold wind and a flurry of snowflakes. Hermione pulled apart from Harry, the sound startling her. She started to climb of the cot, intent on closing the flap manually, when she felt her movement stalled by Harry's hand gripping her arm.

Her wand was still on top of his blankets where she had laid it down before dressing his wound. Harry picked this up and waved a spell at the tent flap that sent it closing and sealing out the bitter air like an angry rabid dog.

The wand was placed back down, but, Harry's hand was still gripping her arm. She turned away from the screeching winds outside, and to the warmth of his grip on her forearm. She traveled up that warmth, to his eyes, and what she was there was piercing, sad, wanting – home, _everything_ else but this.

She sat back down on the edge of the cot wordlessly, she felt the clicking of the Horcrux against her skin, felt a low _hum_ from the piece of Voldemort's soul that lived inside the battered metal locket.

The flannel shirt Harry was wearing formed a 'V' at his collarbone, and the scorch mark her severing charm had caused when she removed the Horcrux stood out like ugly thing that it was. Hermione had no way to dress it properly, so she had dripped a few drops of Dittany on it. But, even that had still left it red and angry, and painful looking.

Hermione traced the edges of the mark with her fingers, it was raised like a burn, and almost the color of raw steaks in the center. She felt him tremble, just slightly at her touch.

"It doesn't even really hurt Hermione."

Hermione met his eyes, with one word that was only sad to her thoughts:_ Liar._

She bent her head under his chin, and placed the softest of kisses against the wound, feeling him tremble again. His hand was on the back of her head, and she found herself resting it on his shoulder as he threaded shaking fingers through her hair.

She could feel his heartbeat against hers, and it was a hammering , erratic thing. It sounded as broken as her own. She found herself kissing his neck, light wet kisses, all searching out something that _wanted_, that _needed. _

She felt him pressing his lips her hair, and after she felt another pressure on her forehead she pulled back, seeing his eyes so wet so sad, so _tired_, and without any form of hesitation, pressed her mouth against his.

It was an aching moment that left them both breathless. She climbed up onto the cot and straddled his waist, and he took her weight without any form of hesitation on his part either, arms going up by her neck, becoming entangled in thick blonde hair. She felt him kissing her back so deeply that it resonated in her bones.

His hands slid up her back, tracing her spine, his touch was so raw and lonely that it made tears burn her eyes. He pulled at the edges of her lavender shirt, and she helped him, discarding it over her head, leaving her staring at him, in her white laced bra, heart hammering against her ribs, the evil little Horcrux screeching inside it's casing now that it could feel the beating of Harry's heart so near.

Harry's hand went behind her neck just like before their impromptu dance, and removed the locket from her neck.

"Harry, _don't -_what if it gets angry?" She felt cold fear creep into her at the thought of that demented _evil _attacking them because it could not get what it wanted fast enough.

Harry set it on the other side of him on the cot, and the locket _curled_ itself to his leg, seeking the blood of the one it wanted to destroy.

Hermione felt sick when she saw this. "I'm sorry-" her voice cracked into a terrible sadness. She didn't know what she was apologizing for – having to watch that _thing_ cling to Harry, because she had let him take it off of her without a word of protest.

Or maybe it was because it was they were like this, in a tiny little tent in some snow storm, needing each other in ways that shouldn't be, because they were with other people.

"I'm so sorry Harry," hot tears began to fall her face, weighing her down with such a choking heavy feeling. Because this _shouldn't_ be, but it _was._ Because, they never had to label how much they loved each other – they just knew they loved each other.

"Don't be sorry Hermione," Harry looked as wounded as she was. "Not for this," he stroked her arm with the knuckles of his left hand, hating to see her so torn, so _broken_. She was half naked, both in body and soul. Just wanting for something to make her whole again.

And, he felt that pain too. Because no matter whom he loved outside, or whom she did – they were broken _here_ inside _this_ moment. And, they _needed_ each other, and it wasn't their bloody fault-

Because you can't help who you love.

He took her face in his hands, and kissed her, tasting the saltiness of her tears against his mouth. "It's okay." He kissed her eyes, tasting more saltiness, feeling her shaking.

Or maybe it was him, he couldn't tell anymore, because this heavy, choking feeling had settled over them like a fog, leaving them both gasping for air.

"It's okay Hermione," this shaking was defiantly his, because being in this moment was so much that it was starting to hurt. This beautiful, beautiful friend, she had never left him, and she wasn't leaving him now, not even when they were both too broken to even form a whole person together.

He kissed her again, lowering her down onto the cot, and she let him. His kissed her everywhere, calloused fingers sliding over her bare skin. His touch burned like fire, but, it was so tender that it dropped tears from her eyes like rain.

When she felt him, she cried harder, because it was so achingly raw but it was so, so wondrous.

When Harry opened his eyes, he was met with hers, heavy with tears, sliding down her face, her body so soft and warm under him. "It's okay-" His voice shook like its own pain.

She nodded so fast and sadly, because she didn't know if it would _ever_ be okay.

He placed a deep kiss to her eyes, and she felt his tears hit the bridge of her nose. She felt him settle behind her, and she pressed herself up against him.

His chin settled into her neck, his head resting against hers, and he grasped so tightly to her hands, feeling her grasp tightly in return. The Horcrux wound on his chest, and the snake bite on his arm burned and screamed in pain, but he didn't lower the intensity of his hold on Hermione. It made him hold to her tighter, because he needed to _feel_, even if it was painful. Because, if Voldemort had his way, he would never feel again. And he didn't want to forget.

The wind continued to howl, screaming to be let back in, it flapped against the tent, but Harry's spell sealed it off from breaking back inside through the canvas.

Being without proper clothing left Hermione freezing, but she didn't want to move, so she pressed herself more into his back, drawing up a bit of blanket that she could reach up over her body, felt him pull her closer to give her some of his warmth.

Hermione felt his heart beat against her back, felt his hands, warm, and shaking in her own, and she brought them up to her own heartbeat, pressing them there, so he could feel hers as well.

Neither one of them spoke, they just listened to each other breathe, and cry, until sleep claimed them both as her own.

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><p>Hermione awoke to a silence that was profound after all the screeching wail from before. She felt Harry's arms, warm and solid on her waist. The tiny nickel alarm clock she had brought, ticked, and read '<em>7:30<em>' on the wooden camp table next to the bunk.

Carefully, she slid out of the cot, and pulled up into a sitting position. Harry sensed her absence, and shifted in his sleep, searching for her warmth.

"Go back to sleep Harry," Hermione soothed her hand through his hair, and he stilled. She captured his hand with her own, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to check his bandages on his arm. Blood had seeped through in the night, and she removed the sodden bandage, relieved to find that the wound was no longer actively bleeding. She redressed it with more Dittany and a clean bandage that she tore from her already shredded camisole. She heard Harry hiss at her movement, but he did not wake up. The burn from the locket still looked horrible, but no signs of infection had set it. She dropped more Dittany on it and winced when she heard the sizzling sound it made.

Harry grimaced in his sleep, but when she rested her palm warmly on his chest, he stilled. He looked so different when he slept. Not innocent, because these months on the road had changed him too much to even allow him _that, _but the battle lines and scars were less noticeable, the guard down enough to show her the loneliness within, that he tried to cover up.

The air was biting at her skin, so she quickly threw on a pair of jeans and sweater and her gloves. She placed the Horcrux back around her neck before adding two wool scarves around it. She pulled out clean jeans and Harry's white zip up woolen sweater, laying them on the camp table beside the alarm clock where he would be able to find them when he woke up.

She flung her hair up into a loose pony tail, and collected the wooden water bucket where it sat at the entrance of the tent. She also picked up the copy of The Life and Times of Albus Dumbledore that she had taken from Bathilda's house. She felt guilty about stealing from the old woman, but after realizing that that hideous snake had come out of _her,_ she lost that guilt.

But, even with these items in hand, she still didn't leave. She stood poised in the center of the tent, her eyes on Harry, watching his chest rising and falling underneath that hideous wound, one hand flung out to where she had been sleeping, looking so bone achingly tired.

She set the bucket and book back down, and walked back over to the cot. She moved with a bit of an ache, because what they had done, no matter what came afterwards, he would always be her first.

But, it was something she wasn't ashamed off.

It had been filled with hurt, but also with tenderness; was too wonderful of a thing in such a bleak, barren war, to be ashamed off.

"It's okay," She leaned down to kiss him.

He stirred. "_Hermione?"_ the name was such sweetness, such longing, someone who loved what they were calling out for more than anyone ever would.

She found herself wiping away her own salty tears, as they fell against his skin. "It's okay Harry." She pulled away and covered him more with the blanket, allowing her touch to linger, long on the back of his neck, stroking it with her hand.

She pulled away and collected her bucket and book once more, taking one last lingering look at Harry before she disappeared behind the tent flap and into the cold winter air.

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><p>End.<p>

Yes, I know, say it: _"They SLEPT together? They're friends! They have a boyfriend and a girlfriend respectively! How could you do that? HOW?"_

But, let me tell you why:

This _wasn't_ a way to slam either Ron or Ginny, nor was it a way to get Harry and Hermione to be together to spite them, or simply to get them in bed together.

This was a raw, moment in the middle of a blood filled, painful, war. This was two people, who loved each other since childhood, who _loved_ each other without labels, who _needed_ each other when they had no one else, when it was just them. And, you can't just ignore, and turn away that kind of thing, it's too deeply rooted.

Now, if you still don't like me after that, then fine. I'm not here to change your mind. I'm here to write what I feel, and what I see play out in my head, without apologizing for it.

But, I thank you for reading, regardless of what you think.

Peace,

Mystic


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